The Highlander's Secret Maiden: A Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Lydia Kendall

  Marcas urged his horse onwards, jaw set and feeling tenacious in his determination. The big ugly institution soon came into view and he leapt off his horse, muscles fired up and ready for a fight.

  Luckily, he didn’t hear any signs of the men having caught up with him, so he led his horse at a jog to the cover of the trees to tie her up before striding in through the main entrance.

  “Ah, Mr. McGowan, I thought I’d be seeing one of you clowns here, although I was expecting it to be your brother who showed up to play the fierce hero,” the words were scathing and saturated in a poncy English accent.

  Marcas whirled round to be confronted with the unwelcome sight of Morgan Bolton.

  He stood there in his army uniform, proud with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed with the challenge.

  “Bolton,” Marcas stated, puffing out his chest and raising his chin, feeling his knuckles clench.

  “I’m going in there to claim my wife-to-be. I’m willing to pay any ransom to get her back, and a brute like you will not get in my way,” Morgan threatened.

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Marcus argued, “she disnae want ye Bolton. Why don’t ye just go home where ye belong and leave her be?”

  “Oh, and you think a fine English lady would give the likes of you a second look, do you?” Morgan snorted, attacking Marcas right back. “She was living out some silly romantic fantasy like the stories in all those novels. Now that she’s gotten the help she needed, she’s come back to her senses and realized that she belongs at home by my side.”

  “It’s like ye believe yer own nonsense ye English sack o’ filth,” Marcas retorted. “Why no’ just be a man and let her speak for herself’?”

  Morgan took a step towards Marcas, his hand hovering on his belt where a sword was sheathed. Hald yer wheesht and come at me ye coward.

  Before Marcas could twitch his hand toward his own weapon, Morgan had unsheathed his sword and swung it right at him.

  Ye bastard.

  Marcas ducked skillfully, grabbing his sword and swinging it upward to meet Bolton’s, the two blades meeting in a loud thwack. They spun, jabbed and crossed, Marcas’ strength and power matched by Morgan’s skill with the sword.

  The crossbow was Marcas’ usual weapon of choice during battle, as he preferred to aim from a distance to injure the enemy, rather than to look into their eyes as he wielded a deadly weapon upon them.

  He was so consumed with anger, however, that it kept him going enough to finally wound Bolton to the point that he yelled out in pain, dropping his sword for just long enough for Marcas to escape to the entrance of the asylum, to find Georgina.

  His feet began to climb the steps and he reached out for the heavy wooden doors to announce his presence through the bars, when he felt a sharp pain pierce the back of his leg and he crumpled before he could take it what happened, howling in pain.

  Morgan stepped over him and strode right into the institution as if nothing had happened, Marcas powerless to stop him.

  Oh, that English prick will pay fer this. I’m no' letting him get his hands on Georgina, no chance.

  Trying to pull himself up to sitting, another yelp of pain escaped from Marcas. He twisted himself around to take a good look at his leg, find out just how bad it was, and he let out a gush of breath as he saw the bloody mass that was the back of his leg.

  Oh, ye bugger it was painful.

  A thundering of hooves announced Conall’s arrival soon after, his face set and he leapt off his horse as soon as he came to a stop. “What’s the damage?” he asked as he approached Marcas.

  “Dinnae ken. All I ken is me leg is bleeding like a bitch,” Marcas answered.

  His head jerked up in a panic as he heard another horse approach and he looked around for his sword. “It’s only Alpin, I sent word fer him and some o’ the others as back up,” Conall explained.

  Oh, thank God. I am in no shape to be dealing with another hostile English tit right now.

  “Aye aye,” Alpin yelled down in greeting, “got yersel’ in a bit o’ a scrape then?”

  “It would seem so, right enough,” Marcas called back, trying to make light of the situation.

  “Well brother, we need tae shift ye oot o’ here and quick,” Conall urged.

  “Dash that Conall, they’ve got Georgina locked in there. I’m no' lettin’ Bolton march in there and snatch her up,” Marcas argued, trying to move into a hostile looking position.

  “I’ve got a plan, don’t ye worry. I’ll be getting the better o’ him yet,” Conall said smugly.

  “Well ye’d better have somethin’ good. We cannae let him swan off wi’ her,” Marcas intoned.

  “Och, he’ll be doin’ no such thing,” Conall said confidently, waving to a man who was approaching them on foot.

  “Aye aye, Wilson,” Conall greeted, “ye all set?”

  “Yes, indeed sir,” this Wilson spoke. “I’ll be taking them on a detour round to Leith Inn. It’s due heavy rain this afternoon so that will stop the journey in its tracks.”

  “Right, and I’ll wait for yer signal,” Conall confirmed before the man nodded and moved back to the carriage that was awaiting at the bottom of the road.

  “Whit was all that?” Marcas asked.

  “Plan B. Had to think fast,” Conall answered, “Now, let’s get ye up off the ground.”

  Alpin and Conall both picked Marcas up and managed to get him up on a horse. His wound was bleeding heavily and Conall instructed Alpin to take him back to the Quoyburray Inn to get him patched up and ready for the road again.

  “Don’t ye worry Marcas, she’ll no' be in his clutches much longer,” Conall said as he took off on his horse for the woods, in a bid to stay undercover of the trees and follow the route of the carriage.

  Of course, he’s the one that gets to play the hero while I sit here nothing but a useless lump.

  The only consolation was that his brother was both determined and hot-headed enough to follow through with his daft plans, meaning that Georgina’s wellbeing was going to be the priority.

  I can count on Conall to rescue her, once again, and bring her back home to Carnarvan where she belongs, with me.

  Chapter 15

  Georgina had finally been taken out of solitary confinement to the sitting room. It was the first time she’d seen any of the other inmates, having only heard their screams and cries vibrating through the walls.

  If they weren’t crazy when they arrived, then they no doubt would be now.

  For there was nothing but being kept utterly alone, away from human contact or any sight of the outdoors, to ruin one’s state of mind. She’d always assumed that the inhabitants of institutions such as this were demented, deranged and dangerous. Now, she knew better.

  “Sit down here Miss Compton,” the blank-faced nurse pushed her towards an empty chair. She’d given up the fight against her false name, now responding listlessly to it. The alternative just didn’t bear thinking about.

  Having learned that good behavior was rewarded around here, she used it as an opportunity to find a weak spot in the staff.

  There had to be a moment when one of them stepped away to empty their bladder, or rest their eyes, before the next nurse arrived.

  She sank down into the stiff, uncomfortable chair, pretending to look blankly across the room like the others that were put in here. I wonder if they’re playing along like me, or maybe they’re trying to make the most of the change of scene from their prison cell of a room.

  One door. One nurse. One window.

  Georgina had been documenting the layout of the building and all possible escape routes. The first two days in this place had all but broken her as she sobbed and yelled out that someone had made a mistake, that this was nothing but a trap.

  “My name is Georgina Andrews, I’m not crazy, this is all a huge misunderstanding,” she’d cried out over and over again.

  “Yeah, yeah, nothin’ we ain’t heard before,” an emotionless doctor said in response, after
she’d yelled herself hoarse. He made her drink down some foul-tasting medicine, making her feel woozy and tired. When she eventually came to, his words stuck in her mind:

  “Nothing we haven’t heard before.”

  It was then she grabbed on to the little courage she had left and concocted it into a way out. Would good behavior be enough to get her discharged? Probably not without a proper guardian or companion to make the final ruling, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her from trying.

  “I already tried; you can’t pull the wool over that one’s eyes.” Georgina turned to face the woman in the chair next to her who had leaned over slightly to speak to her.

  Georgina’s eyes darted from the nurse at the door to the pale, dark haired woman staring at her. Her skin was sallow, and she looked positively ill, but her eyes were keen and indicated that she was aware of her surroundings and what was going on.

  “What do you suggest?” Georgina whispered, not wanting to look like she was engaging with one of the other patients in case it earned a strike against her.

  “What you need is to earn your way into the front room. Closest to the exit you’ll ever get, minimum security.” The woman answered, keeping her voice low.

  “How come you’re not there?” Georgina asked.

  “I made it once upon a time. Tried to jump through the window and lost my chance, had to start again from square one,” she answered.

  Georgina leaned back in her chair quickly as she saw the nurse frown over in their direction, ending the brief conversation.

  When she turned back to her new companion, the woman’s eyes had glazed over, and she was staring into space like she wasn’t in the room at all.

  Did I imagine that conversation? Maybe the loneliness is making me crazy after all.

  Her days passed by, all blending into one, but she still wasn’t any closer to an escape. Oh, when will this torture end?

  What if Marcas wasn’t coming for her after all? What if her captor intended to keep her here hidden away forever?

  She was almost at her wits end and ready to give up, when she heard the sound of a commotion.

  Shouts, outbursts and incidents were frequent in here so, at first, she barely raised an eyebrow, but there was something familiar in amongst the noise and the raised voices. Something Scottish and commanding… Marcas! It had to be, he’d finally come for her.

  A bolt of lightning shot through her and she was instantly upright and alert in her seat. The minutes kept ticking past and eventually she heard a set of footsteps marching purposefully and they were coming in her direction.

  This is it. I’m getting out of here.

  She tried to keep her face straight and her excitement carefully hidden as the doctor strode into the room, his eyes focused on her with a detached purposefulness.

  “Miss Compton, your release has been officiated. You are to be released into the care of your husband,” he stated.

  Husband? She felt a rising of elation at this word and the prospect of attaching it to Marcas.

  “Come along now,” the doctor ushered impatiently. She stood up all too readily, glancing back toward the other women sat in their sitting room chairs and feeling a pang of sadness that they were all being left here alone, to keep on this horrible day to day existence.

  As she approached the exit, she managed to meet the eye of the woman she’d spoken to the other day. She winked at Georgina, the movement so slight that she could have dreamt it, before her gaze went glassy and returned to watching the clock ticking on the opposite wall.

  Georgina followed the doctor’s rushed steps down the dim hallway, finally emerging in the entranceway, which she’d only seen once before as she was dragged in through it kicking and screaming. The sunlight streamed in much stronger than it did through any of the barred windows in the building and the bright light dazzled her after spending so much time indoors.

  “Sir, Miss Compton is ready for you, I just need your signature on these papers,” the doctor announced.

  “Of course, Doctor, happy to oblige,” an unpleasantly expected voice spoke, certainly not the melodic but roughly accented tone she’d been longing to hear. These words were spoken in a nasal British tone, of a self-important imposing man.

  Morgan Bolton stepped forward, a triumphant grin on his face and reached out to sign the documents that were presented to him.

  No, no, no, this cannot be happening.

  Georgina was shocked to silence. Where is Marcas? Has something happened to him?

  “Come on now, dear,” Morgan said in his smarmy voice, “Let’s get you out of here.”

  He held out his arm for her to take it, but she stood stock still, repulsed by the idea of being near him. I’m going nowhere with you.

  “Oh, dear,” he laughed as if she were a silly little girl acting up, “I do think she’s had quite the shock,” he said for the benefit of the doctor.

  “It will be well, you’ll feel much better after some fresh air,” he continued, this time taking her arm himself and steering her toward the exit.

  “I thank you again doctor for taking care of my lady. It’s tragic indeed when women like her with such delicate dispositions have a turn, but I will certainly keep a close eye on her and make sure nothing is put in her path to upset her like this again,” Morgan babbled on.

  Delicate disposition my arse. As she thought of the curse word that she’d picked up from being around Conall and Marcas, her heart sunk.

  I really thought he’d come through for me. Maybe that kiss wasn’t as life changing for him as it was for me.

  As they turned to leave, Georgina saw the man who had captured her sidle into view and share a knowing look with Morgan. It was one of triumph, which suggested that he had received the ransom money and released Georgina into Morgan’s care.

  Passed on from one prison to the another.

  “Best of luck, Miss Compton. I hope that this institution has provided you with the respite that you needed,” he spoke. “I am sure that Mr. Bolton will provide you with all the health and happiness you could wish for.”

  She merely glared at his mocking face, longing to spit in the man’s face. If there was anyone she hated more than Morgan Bolton, it was this man, and she didn’t even know his name. Surely there couldn’t be a more twisted, cruel creature that existed in the world than him.

  “Yes, thank you, my good doctor,” Morgan said before ushering her out the door as if he was worried the scunner would change his mind.

  Morgan steered her down the front steps and into a waiting carriage, quickly ushering her inside before dashing round to enter next to her. “Make haste if you will,” he urged the driver, and then they were off.

  Why the hurry? She vaguely wondered before beginning to fall into a pit of despair. Oh, Marcas, what if we never see each other again? I never got the chance to tell you that I love you.

  “I’m happy to see you well, Georgina,” Morgan spoke, “do not worry about what people will think of you when we arrive home. I have explained that you were suffering from poor health and that those northern brutes took advantage of that by luring you to come away with them.

  Now that you’ve received the help you needed, it is down to me to ensure that your continued care and needs are met. You will have a maid and a nurse on hand to see to you, and all the best luxuries once the wedding celebrations are finalized.” He announced.

  Does he believe his own lies? Georgina was processing all this with an increasing feeling of anger. He told everyone that she was mentally unstable? Just to save face. All he cares about is himself and his own reputation.

  “Oh, thanks.” She responded flatly, the first words she’d spoken to him so far.

  She listened to him talk further, more assertive statements about how things were going to be, her gaze set on the passing view from the window as she contemplated the future that she had tried so hard to escape from.

  No matter how tempting he tried to make the luxuries he was promising s
ound, it only propelled her further into despair. Was one real kiss all that I deserved? Surely it can’t be that it was only destined to be a memory.

  As the carriage moved through the countryside, images of Marcas, and Conall too, played over and over in her mind.

  Perhaps, I am not destined to get the happiness that I dream of after all.

  Chapter 16

  Her wallowing was cut short, however, as the weather began to take a turn for the worse. The light of the sun had soon disappeared behind the clouds after they left Greyfriars and rain fell from the sky. It was the kind of day that the McGowans would describe as typical Scottish weather. Wild, interchangeable and unpredictable.